


The Taste of Ozone

by Z0Z0



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Consensual Sex, M/M, Mirror Sex, One-Sided Attraction, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 23:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17877011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Z0Z0/pseuds/Z0Z0
Summary: Mutual fascination and a talent for strong magic lead to some very interesting situations. Keep your eyes open.





	The Taste of Ozone

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything alone in a very long time, so bear with me!  
> This really got away from me, but the next chapter should have something more relevant to the tags ;)

The door swings open. The fire alights. And Aaravos finds himself in a room... The same room. Every day.

Every day in the Wherever-He-Is starts the same way. The door swings open and he steps into the fire's light, surrounded by the same books, the same windows, the same sense of deja vu he will never be able to shake. He can never recall how the previous day ended, if it ended at all. It's simply an emptiness until the door in front of him swings open and it starts all over again. He reads the usual books in rotations and takes his notes until the crackle of the fire puts him to sleep. Then the door swings open. His notes are gone, the books have returned to their places, and the pit in his stomach grows ever deeper. The creature comforts of the room have grown so deeply bitter that he can hardly enjoy them. Even the crackle of the fire is the same every day, like an old song he knows by heart. Truly this must be hell.

The only thing truly of interest in The Wherever is a mirror. A beautifully crafted mirror built into the Eastern wall of his eternal study. On very scarce occasions he gets a glimpse of what he remembers as the world outside. The silver sheen flutters aside at a corner, showing him a glance of a scaly paw or the occasional stack of books he's yet to read. Oh, to read a new book... To glance at the pages of a tome he doesn't know by rote. Such moments are the only thrill he knows.

One day his reflection in the mirror disappears. He sees a room on fire. The silent siege of the dragon king's study that he's only caught glimpses of. He can't help but feel a rush of joy at the scene before him. The dragon king is dead, his home scorched. His captor's life is ended, and... The room is moving? No. The other end of the mirror is being moved. It's hefted sideways by armored hands and the entire study is wrenched to one side. The logs of the fire roll under his desk, the books go flying to the other end of the room, and he finds himself falling with them. He lands hard against a pillar, feeling a dull crunch at the back of his head. His vision goes red and then black as his mouth fills with the taste of iron.

Then... The door opens. His hearts pound in his chest as he's flooded with the memories of his own demise. He touches the back of his head, four shaking fingers grasping at his white hair. Nothing... No blood. Nothing broken. Everything in the room in it's assigned places.

He rushes to the mirror to see a new room. The dragon king's study is gone, and on the other side is what appears to be a bedroom. The room is gilded with finery and the insignia of two towers, one taller than the other. He doesn't recall ever seeing it, but knows he is somewhere new. The panic of death is forgotten, and his hearts leap as he sees two men step into the room, talking soundlessly on the other side. Humans. One bears a makeshift staff and fresh wounds, and the other wears a crown mirroring the towers on the wall. But they are people with new faces, and voices he cannot hear. To hear another voice would soothe the pit in his gut, he just knows it. They step close to the mirror, appearing to admire and study it. He waves. And screams. He throws spells and shaking fists against the surface. But nothing... They cannot see or sense him, nor can he seem to scratch the mirror's surface. He slams his fists desperately against it until they bleed. As he slides to rest on his knees, he weeps for the first time in a very long time. A the mirror is covered again he feels more lost than he ever has. This _MUST_ be hell.

 

* * *

 

According to his count it's about a year before the mirror is uncovered again by someone familiar. The man with the wounds appears to have healed, but he bears a new staff. One imbued with a magical stone. A human mage? Interesting... As he studies the mirror Aaravos is studying the man. He's an interesting specimen for a human. He seems fairly young, moderately knowledgeable, and favors his previously injured leg. The man seems to be very interested in his mirror. He tries small spells and big spells (for a human), much to Aaravos' entertainment. It becomes a daily ritual for them both. The door opens, the fire alights, and the strange little mage uncovers the mirror to try all over again. Every day he rushes to the mirror to watch him try, in favor of reading the stale books or counting the pops of the burning wood.

The little mage tries every day for what seems to be ages. Years, even. He seems to grow more and more frustrated with each passing week, and for a while he even gives up, covering the mirror again. Aaravos can't help but be disappointed. He's grown to look forward to the man's attempts to crack the mirror's secrets. He admits he's grown fond of the human mage, as silly as that sounds. His emotions and frustrations and tiny spells are so endearing to him. If only he could help... And oh has he tried. He has copied the mage's little spells, trying to strengthen them from the other side, but nothing has worked. At least he's trying. During the period where the mirror is covered, he... Misses him. He sketches his face on empty papers, trying to remember his scars, his strange... Face hair. He even finds himself daydreaming that he'll break him out someday and he will FINALLY be free. But... What would he do then? Would the mage try to kill him? His kind and humans have never been on the same metaphorical page.

The elf's dark eyes slip to the mirror time and time again, hoping for another glimpse. Another chance to try again. To learn more. What is his name...? What does his voice sound like? What does he like to read? No-- that's. That's a silly thing to wonder. He's a human after all. Nothing more, nothing less. Beneath his time, beneath his notice. A silly pet, if anything at all. And yet when the mirror is finally uncovered again, his hearts leap in his chest. He rushes to the surface to see that-- oh. He's upset. The man in the mirror is crying. He looks...bereft. Things are thrown across the room with a silent scream of pain. A table is flipped, vials of liquid are smashed against the wall and Aaravos gasps when he charges towards the mirror with tearful fury in his eyes.

He has to brace himself as the mirror is thrown to the ground, glass first. The entire room lurches forward and he's thrown against the surface. He curls into himself as the desk and books fly towards the newly assigned ground. Luckily they miss him by inches and he's saved another agonizing death. Everything settles back to the original floor with a heavy thud as the mirror is tipped back up. Aaravos settles on his knees, his face and hands still pressed against the mirror as he tries to get his bearings. The man on the other side of the mirror is just in front of him, kneeling at the surface looking panicked. He thought he had shattered it. Their faces seem only inches apart, eyes locked together in mutual pain and panic. He feels his face grow warm and his hearts flutter as he watches him closer than he ever has. For a moment he almost feels like the mage is looking right at him and it's flustering. He's... Very handsome up close. But he aches to soothe the misery and pain on his face. It... Hurts to see him hurt. He finds himself wanting to lean closer... To soothe his pain. He pauses with a start. He holds a breath and sits back, staring at the man as he stands and walks away. He feels the heat in his face and the racing beat in his chest as the realization hits him. For the first time in a very long time, Aaravos speaks.

"Oh no."

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback would blow my mind, so feel free to leave comments! The next chapter or two will fulfill the tags I used (and hopefully be longer), so come back and read it!


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